A Strange Occurance
by Screaming Monkey Labrat
Summary: A tale as old as time: Girl hates Boy, Boy loves Girl, Girl is neurotic and too eloquent for her own good, Chaos ensues, A kiss is had... And suddenly, the strangest thing happens: She likes it. And she doesn't take it well.
1. Winter Loving and Introductions

**Beware, all thee who enter past the threshold of this story: I have taken some pretty gargantuan liberties.  
****But then again, I **_**do**_** come from the Land of Liberty.  
****Ach, read on!: **

I recognized long ago my compulsive hatred towards James Potter was anything but healthy. I never denied that tacking to my wall a '150 ways I want to torture James before I die' list, with attendant empty boxes to tick beside each instruction after completion, was bordering on insane. In fact, _I never said that my obsession with James Potter was normal at all! _

But it's there. And it's not going to go away.

For a long while, at least.

You see, it began when he asked me out the first time. I was thirteen and picking bugs out of my hair from a delightful romp on a Snarglehoofenstein hunting expedition with Xenophillius Lovegood down at the lake.

James came up to me, his friends watching on from their reserved corner avidly, as girls from an adjacent corner watched _them _avidly and simply asked. You see, I was already on edge. Not only did I not like being looked at by James Potter because he had what I have since deemed as 'gooey eyes', but I did not like being looked at (by James), being looked at (by Sirius, Remus, and Peter), being looked at by The Avid Girls (I'm sure they have names, but I've never become properly acquainted with them).

So, when James comes up and lisps (he used to lisp - he pronounciated 's' as 'th'... so I suppose you could say he had a _lithp_. Ah, whose cruel joke was it to put an 's' in lisp? I want to kiss them), "Hey, Lilly. You're looking right thexy. I like... your... thweater, the colour is... er... um...," by this point he was staring openly at one some would deign 'My Rack', "Anywayth. Would you maybe like to go to Hogthmeade with me thith Thaturday?"

I stared at him beadily and said slowly, "No..."

To which Sirius Black sprang up, incensed, from his corner and pointed at me theatrically, yelling, "You racist! You won't go out with him because he _lisps!_"

I replied, defensive, "That wasn't it at all, you turd. And people who lisp are not a _race_, so I'm _not _a racist!"

Peter jumped up, then, "But you're _discriminatory!_ HEY EVERYONE" - Everyone turned around with a look of polite enquiry etched upon his face - "LILLY'S _DISCRIMINATORY_."

By this time, the Avid Girls were in a state of hysteria, and were nickering to other people close to them about how _racist_ I was.

And that is how I earnt the golden title of 'Lilly the Discriminator', which although lacking any real imagination or even pizazz (or zork), I kept for three years until I slowly got rid of it under a steady regime of staunch and microscopically-sensitive political correctness.

So, as you can see, James Potter _clearly triggered my unhealthy obsession_ and is therefore...

I don't know, Guilty(...?) of making me spend most of my recreational hours plotting ways to bruise, bleed, stab, mutilate, maim, marr, burn, char, scald, mince, lance, dismember, disembowl, decapitate, stun, amputate, strangle, throttle, bludgeon, beat, cut, gut, flay, skin, aphyxsiate, warp, euphanaize, damage, poison, debase, degrade, batter, castrate, maul, enfeelble, paralyze, mangle, warp, shank and karate chop him.

Now, since we have got that little bump unrumpled in this story of smooth, smooth silk, we can continue: Onwards and Upwards!

-

I am a strange person. I let that be known almost immediately.

For one, I walk differently from everyone else due to a ligament in my right foot being irretriveably damaged when I was four. It is not a very noticable difference, I must point out, but it is still a difference. I mean, this walk will never land me a grant at that Silly Walks office in that Monty Python skit, but it is still _abnormal_. Since the tear in the ligament, every third step or so... my leg does a slight skip. It is only slight, but still, it is there, and I know it is there, escpecially when I am holding potentially scalding cups of Coffee.

Apart from the walk, though, there are other off-putting mannerisms to me. Well, atleast I find them off-putting, but the fact that I seem to have scrabbled up a good number of friends (and further more, friendly accquaintances), would seem to go to the contrary. My best friend, Ava, assures me they are endearing: I am not convinced. Like the walk, so the talk. I talk differently, with a half-Australian, half-Irish, half-English accent. Yes, that's right, my accent is so different it is actually three halves, or 1.5 for those who past seventh grade fractions. My mother is Australian, my father is Irish (which makes for an interesting homelife, let me tell you), and I was born in England and have grown up there. That, my friends, is very noticable. I also have picked up the dialect of my ancestral countries, so I can be found exclaiming at the skies on a peticularly dismal morning, "God love you, but _Strewth_, couldn't it be darker outside than a lamb's ear?"

Yes.

Apart from just walking and talking bizarrely, I also just _look_ plain wierd. Not the kind of aggresive wierd where you'd pull your children to your hip and cross the street if you saw me waltzing the opposite way, no, but still just plain wierd. I am of average height (a comfortable five foot eight), with a complexion I actually pride myself on - not a single pimple, even when I eat barrell loads of chocolate. It sounds normal so far, doesn't it? But it gets worse. I have eyes like a fresh pickled toad. That sounds revolting, and I assure you, I think it is (Even though Ava shrills they're _beautiful_ and _emerald coloured_... The nonsense she comes up with to try and wrestle a morsel of self-confidence into me!). I also have hair. Red hair. Oh, christ, I _know! _I hate my gingervitis hair. Everyone says it makes me stand out and stand apart but I'm a lazy shit and I don't _like_ standing at all, I'd rather be loitering next to the wall paper, unnoticed.

I'm also unnervingly thin. Not anorexically so, but still bony. There have been numerous rumours about me and eating disorder, to varying degrees (some ones have been so fierce McGonagall herself has called me into her office and tried to get me to eat her peanut brittle... and that's not a metaphor, you sickos). When I lie down, you can see my ribs, and hip bones. And my ass? Ahahahah. I laugh with bitterness, with irony. The last time I had a butt was when I was a baby. - Oh, I just caught myself in a near blunder. I was going to suggest that prehaps it just 'dissappeared up my arse'.

And apart from just the superficial things, _inside my mind_ if you could not already tell, I _am_ insane in the membrane. I have been since I was little. I think magic warped me - well, it certainly didn't help. I have a certain rabidosity to me which makes me slightly noticable in a crowd. When in a fight, I will never back down or tear up. I will obliterate (oh, I love that word! and I so rarely get to use it in a sentence) my opponent with fierce valour. They will _rue_ the day they tried to hurt my feelings! Yeah.. And besides that, there's other things, too. 'Quirks', as some might say. My brain, my mind and my mouth never seem to connect properly. When I tell my brain 'don't say that she has frizzy hair', my _mouth_ will announce it to the entire room. Quite accidentally. I take no responsibility for my thoughts.

I also get shrill when I'm enraged, red-faced when I'm scared (which is very rarely), my voice squeaks when I'm upset or lonely or under any time of social-related anguish. When I'm in the company of someone I am 'crushing' on, I can keep my cool, but as soon as they leave, my forearms will erupt in goosebumps.

Which segues nicely to my next point: my love interest. The boy who, right now, lights up the universe and sears the stars into the sky (here's an appropriate warning: I can get poetic, and not always well). I say 'right now' because I very rarely keep a crush once I have figured them out or have started dating them. I am the female equivalent of a male 'playaaaa'. Of course, I don't go as far as a playa. That is to say, no, I haven't slept with any one of those boys which means, yes, I am a virgin. My love interest, at the moment, is... (drum roll, maiestro!)... _Angus Neely_.

Ooooh! He is a _dish and a half_ (Oh, God, I think I just reverted to old age). He's a Hufflepuffle, and let's just say he could Huffle _my_ Puffle anyday. He could ride my broomstick, he could claw my raven, he could _Slytherin _to my bedroom, he could meet me at my four poster bed and we could make sparks fly out of his wand... Yeaaah. Sorry about that. Anywho, he is _gorgeous_. He's got a face like a young Johnny Depp, and the brains of a bunny rabbit. His pavlovian response to any question is a curt and panicked, "I DUNNO!" So, yes, he's not going to win any Os any time soon, but... he's _gorgeous_, so it doesn't matter if he's a bit of a Himbo.

My friend Ava does not approve of my new crush, but then again, that's _Ava _for you. Ava is a prude. A pruny prude, as I have been calling her since I first discovered boys in second year. She's never had a boyfriend and shows not the slightest inclination of ever _wanting_ one. Now, don't go getting any fancy ideas, Ava is _not_ gay. Although there's nothing wrong with that, I'm sure I would notice if my bestfriend was a lesbian. Ava's just not interested in boys, because, as she puts it, "They're vile and icky and have more testosterone in their veins than blood." She's holding out for something better, and she won't settle for less. And, anyways, it's not like Ava would have any trouble getting a boyfriend. The boys at this school are infatuated with her. Ava is absoloutely stunning, which begs the question why she hangs out with me. She's thin like me, but a bit more curved and rounded, which saves her from the trouble of rumours. She has dark brown hair down to her shoulders, dark brown eyes, and a penchant for purple which really suits her.

Ava does not approve of Angus because she believes I would be abusing my intelligence to go out with him. And my cries of, "But he's so prettttttttttyyyyyy!" always fall on deaf ears.

My other bestfriend who rates a mention above all my other friends would have to be Xenophillius Lovegood. Wierd name, wierd man. He's a year older than me, hypermaniacal, and spends most of his time working on weapons. Which works out nicely for me, considering I have a vendetta with James which is yet to be resolved. And probably won't be until we both leave Hogwarts... But, oh Christ, we both want to be Aurors too. So I suppose it'll end when we... Die. When one of us dies, anyways. And it won't be me. I believe I will still be spry, even in old age.

Xenophillius, or Xena, as I like to call him (mainly because he doesn't get the reference, which makes me chortle), is in his seventh year. He's a year older than me, and in that extra year has become more crazed than I could ever aspire to. Xena and I go back a long way (a whole five years), when he became my first accomplice in a prank against my then-enemy, Narcissa Black. Oh, how I hated that Narcissa Black. I wanted to maim her like she would never have the pleasure of being maimed again. Just her mention would make my fists clench into little balls, and my muscles tighten into pouncing-mode. I collaborated with Xena after hearing that he was working on some home-made dung bombs. They worked like a treat. As I watched my nemisis hustling about blindly in the fray of manure-smoke, shrieking, I was filled with a welling of joy (the same I would later get when I first assaulted James), and turned around in that moment of glee and kissed Xena on the lips. It was my first kiss, his too. He promptly broke us apart and exclaimed, "What the _bejesus _do you think you're doing!?" Seeing him so livid, I lied to protect our friendship, "I accidentally tripped... I was doing a spin... thing. And... I tripped and grabbed on to you... And you... We... Our lips met, or something."

Which, suprisingly, he bought, even though my lying-prowess was yet to be honed.

-

James lost his lisp shortly after asking me out, and promptly gained charm in its place.

Girls, they flock to James!

Haha. Girls can also be known as Birds.

Birds flock to James.

.. That wasn't that funny, actually.

I kind of wish I hadn't pointed it out.

James spent a good part of two years (Third year to Fifth, even when he was betrothed to certain girls) asking me out in increasingly outlandish guesticulations, which I would later find out was because Xena had told him I wanted a grand romantic guesture before I was to ever fall in love. That was true, I did say that, but it was certainly not anything to do with James. I was talking about my various _crushes_. One way James asked me out was punching my then-boyfriend in the stomach in front of everyone and saying, with a Neandrathal timbre to his voice, "Lilly is now mine! I have claimed her!"

To which I replied by charming his arms to punch at random moments, which meant no one could get too close to him for the rest of the day. Sirius did, believing it was safe, and acquired a black eye.

Haha. Sirius Black. Got a _black _eye.

I swear to God I'll stop.

Now, as I stare at him in all his glorified, big-headed, quidditch-boy _and_ prefect appropriation, a girl clinging to his arm, which prevents him full use of it, which means eating has become somewhat of a trying expirience for him, I can only think: _you are so dead. dead, my friend. deader than dead. deader than death himself would ever guestimate the degree of your death. you, my spiky haired imbecile, are so very, very, very dead. _

He looked up from his eating-arm-with-a-girl-on-it pursuit and raised an eyebrow at me, saying, "Is that so, Lily?"

I started, then, and tried to rack my brain for which parts I could have possibly have said aloud. When that failed, I simply replied, "Yes. Yes it is."

"So, I'm now _your_ spiky-haired imbecile, am I? I don't remember me agreeing to this," he said flirtatiously.

My eyes slid to the girl on his arm (Cookie? Cupcake?... I forget after awhile. Something pastry-related, though) to see if she cared at all that the boy she was currently clutching onto like he was a buoy in a vast Ocean was flirting openly with another girl right in front of her: It appeared the answer would be no. She continued staring up at James adoringly.

"It's only mine in the same sense that your dead ass is mine."

"Do with it what you please," James said, supposedly in a suave manner.

"Ew, James," I said, wrinkling my nose, "I'm so not into Necrophilia."

James flushed, and this is when Sirius jumped into the conversation, "Great, because I'll _necro feel ya!..._ if you are."

I stared at him blandly, "It was a valiant effort, Sirius, but overall, I give it a B plus."

"Wait, wait, give me another try!" Sirius said, as we both now ignored James, who was steadily becoming more agitated. He began singing in the tune of 'Summer Lovin'' from the musical, Grease, "Winter lovin', had me a blast! Winter lovin', _Necro_mance! We made out, under the lid, ohhh right on a wintry night! Wella, wella, wella, ugh, Tell me more, tell me more, was it stink at first sight? Tell me more, tell me more, he couldn't put up a fight!"

Snickering in spite of myself, I said, "Okay, that's worth a definite A."

Sirius lunged at me like he was about to kiss me on the cheek, so I picked up a fork quickly and said, "Hold the buck up, buster. I laughed and gave you an A for a song about Necrophilia, which is _not _an invitation for you to touch me."

"I'd say you were frigid," Sirius said, "But you're not, with all the boys you hang out with."

"Oh, I can see where this is going," I replied, rolling my eyes, "And then you're going to say: and I mean _really hang out_ Lily and high five your prospective cronies and think you're the smartest come-backer in the world. And don't even _touch_ 'come-backer', because that'd just be really... gross."

Sirius blinked at me, his head kind of tilted to the side like a dog who didn't understand what I was saying, "Actually... I wasn't. I was going to go back to eating my eggs."

"Oh. That's okay then."

-

**here's how this cray-zay thang works  
****0 - 5 reviews: this story is going to be flushed down the proverbial toilet of FanFiction like a deceased goldfish  
****5 - 10 reviews: holy shanks, i'm suprised and abashed.  
****11 reviews and plussed: give me three days, at the most, to post the next chapter.**

**now, aside from that. I am aware how bizarre this story is, but I have no idea whether it is likeable odd or detestable odd. i suppose only time will tell, and reviews. **

**adios from the host with the most,  
****screaming monkey labrat **


	2. Santa Claus' Sack and The Kiss

**chapter two:  
santa claus' sack and the kiss**

I flopped down on my four poster bed after an afternoon of unsuccessful Angus Neely hunting (my sentries had passed on information to me that they had spied him at The Lake, but it proved to be faulty). Needless to say, I wasn't in the highest of spirits. I rolled my head lazily so I could look at Ava's bed, and saw her hunched over various neatly-piled pieces of parchment. I sighed. Ava is, unfortunately, a writer. You know their temperament, I'm sure .When they get around their manuscripts, suddenly nothing is a laughing matter, _even_ yoddling (which is a fool-proof joke that works in any scenario, ie an office Christmas party).

"Ava," I sang.

"What?" she growled.

"I love chu," I did my sweet smile, which I only crack out when I'm trying to get Ava's attention... Which has been alarmingly regular, as of late, "You mah bitch. You're the bitchingly best bitch of all the bitching bitches. In the bitchdom - that is to say, the kingdom of bitches - you are the queen bitch, the tsarina bitch, if you will. Will you, Ava?"

Ava frowned and made a noise to voice her annoyance.

"I need love," I wheedled, "And attention. Ava, my ego-"

"Is inferior and in need of inflating, obviously," Ava snapped, scratching her quill against parchment.

I was, of course, wounded, "It's only okay when _I _say it."

"I hate your routines."

I stared at Ava, hurt.

She looked up at me through her eyelashes, not moving her head, and sighed deeply, "I'm sorry, I'm in a bad mood. Sirius..."

"What?"

"Sirius... tried to touch me," Ava said, frowning.

I nodded my head, which was hard, considering I was lying down, "He is known to do that. It's his modus operandi before he casts his web over his victim."

Ava giggled, which is a very pretty sound to hear - it reminds me of a baby's laugh, and I felt a certain amount of relief: I was lightening her mood.

She wrinkled her nose, "Ew, Lily. _Ew_."

Frowning, I went over what I last said, and then scoffed, "I was going for a _spider _metaphor, Ava! That was all you and your dirty, dirty mind."

Ava sighed, again, and cleared away her manuscripts, springing off her bed and onto mine. She laid down beside me. There were ink stains on her hands, "But, you see, I'm not used to touch, and I think I made a fool of myself and over-reacted. He was just trying to pat me on the back, but I made that strange squeaking noise I sometimes make, and sprang away from him. He raised his eyebrows at me, then, and did the whole, 'oh how uncool are you?' look. I went red with embarrassment, and as I walked past him, he murrmured, 'Frigid bitch'."

She covered her head with her hands as I let out a bizarre grunt of indignance, "Well, we won't stand for this, Ava. Or, at the very least, _I _will not! How _dare_ he? I'm going to go ask him-"

"Lily, don't _you_ dare," Ava protested, pulling on my hand as I got up, bristled with anger.

"Ava, I won't make a spectacle. I'll do it discreetly, get him in a corner and give him one good knee to the bojangles."

"Your dirty mind emerges."

"But not before yours," I poked my tongue out at her.

I skipped out of the room, ready to defend my friend's honour, and exact my own revenge.

-

I found Sirius, looking lovely and delightful (although I _do_ admit this grudgingly, but still do... to deny it would be petulant, like saying out of spite that Leonardo DiCaprio was not beautiful in his day), in the library, a book on Muggle Studies set out in front of him. He was in deep conversation with James, and they were breaking into chuckles every once in a while. Neither noticed me, or my narrowed eyes, until I was right by their table. At this time, James blustered and Sirius stared at me wolfishly.

"What were you two talking about?" I asked, eyeing them beadily, for a moment forgetting my quest.

Sirius slid his eyes to James, who shook his head furiously, and said, "We were talking about Santa Claus."

James sighed, making his fringe rustle, and looked towards the ground, as if anticipating the worse.

"And?" I prompted.

"We were just talking about how wierd it is... You know, the idea of an old bearded man trespassing into a child's bedroom without parent's consent, and emptying his _'sack' _of '_goodies'_"

James added hastily afterwards, "But we weren't trying to offend your religious beliefs!"

I burst out laughing in spite of myself. Now, although Sirius Black is obviously a chauvinistic farm animal, and the perpetrator (or one of the main perpetrators) of the Lily Evans is Discriminatory Spear Campaign, I have found myself growing a grudging liking to him as of late. Since Ava is frigid and detests sex jokes, and Xenophillius is too overtly absent to banter with, and I don't feel comfortable with spurting risque quips at my vast net of kinda friends, Sirius and I have formed an almost bond over these revolting jokes in the past month.

He grinned at me as I composed myself.

When I had, I added in an imitation of a gruff man's voice, "'Hey, child, that's not a candy cane in my pocket!'"

James, Sirius and I burst into peals of laughter.

Sirius then quipped, "I was thinking more along the lines of, 'hello, child, won't you ride my sleigh tonight?'"

I took a breath to begin to laugh again, but then quickly remembered why I was there. I knitted my eyebrows and barked, "Hey! Wait, no, shut up! Do _not_ make me laugh, I'm here to fight with you-"

"What for?" yelped Sirius.

"For calling _AVA _a 'frigid bitch'," I said, and swiftly kicked him in the shin.

Sirius frowned at me, "But she is."

"That's beside the point."

"It is?"

"She's just sensitive to touch!" I said defensively.

"Why?"

I stopped, "I... Dunno."

"You're not a very good bestfriend," Sirius said, supposedly in earnest.

"Fuck you, and a bottle of rum," I blurted, "Leave Ava alone. Don't touch her, don't talk to her, and most importantly, _don't_ insult her."

"Why?"

"Because she's sensitive and she doesn't need you tormenting her," I barked, "_And_ it's so obvious you're only doing it because you _like _her."

Sirius flushed, but turned aside to James and asked, "Prongs, dear, would it be fair to say that _Lily_ torments _us_?"

"Don't call me dear. But yes, I believe it would be fair to say Lily torments us," James said, a stupid sparkle in his eye.

"So, by her logic," Sirius said, "She likes _us_, too."

"Yes, Sirius, but I'm not the one blushing," I sneered.

"She's got you there, Padfoot."

"I'm not blushing," he protested, blushing further.

"Do I have your word you'll leave Ava alone?"

"You can have anything of mine, Lily dearest," James said, winking.

"I don't care about you," I said, and I could tell it stung him.

"You have my word," Sirius said, a menacing glimmer to his eyes, "_If_ you kiss James here."

"No," I said.

"Then I'll become steadily worse to Ava," Sirius said, "How long do you think she'll last, Lily? She seems like kind of a frail soul, to me."

James said uncomfortably, "Shut up, Padfoot. Don't."

"This isn't about you, James. It's about Lily," Sirius said, "And Ava."

"I forgot what a rotten bastard you could be," I growled.

"Like no other," Sirius attested, "Kiss James, or watch Ava suffer."

James squirmed uneasily in his seat. I realized I had made a fatal mistake: I had wounded Sirius' pride. And a Black whose pride is wounded is dangerous. They'll do anything to try and maintain power, keep the conversation straddled beneath them. My heart sank and I knew, as sure as I was standing there, that Sirius was absoloutely... serious. I also knew that forcing me to kiss James was something that James' morals and virtues would completely go against, but I also knew he'd been wanting to kiss me since puberty.

To put it less eloquently:

I was fucked.

"I'll kiss James," I said.

Sirius grinned; James stood up.

"Not now!" I added hastily, "Now with Sirius and half the goddamn library watching."

"There's a comfy bookcase to the back," Sirius suggested, "I take all my dates there-"

"No, it's okay," James said, a faint tinge to his cheeks, "We'll just do it some other time-"

"No way," Sirius said, frowning, "You are _not_ going to do that. I need some assurance that you two won't just say you do it. I know Prongsie's a bit of a matyr, and he'd have no problem just saying he kissed you when he didn't. Well, he would, but he'd do it."

"What do you want us to do, an Unbreakable Vow?" I deadpanned.

Sirius considered.

I let out a noise of indignation, "_No_. People die if they don't complete those."

"A pretty good incentive to do it, then, isn't it?" Sirius challenged.

I sighed, deeply, "Fine. Get it over with."

-

And that is how I found myself walking slowly to the Quidditch change rooms with James, a feeling of grim determination coming over me. To say I _wanted_ to kiss him was liking saying I wanted to go splunking. But, I was fucked if I didn't. Or more likely: dead. And if there's one thing I wanted less in the world than kissing James, it was death. That and Ava being tormented by Sirius, but that much was already obvious. James, beside me, was walking with his hands in his pockes. I could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain.

The stupid things I get myself into.

We rounded the edge of the Quidditch pitch and made it into the change rooms. After a cursory sweep to see if anyone was in there, I faced James with a look I'm sure a lot of people get before they go to the guillotine.

After a minute of neither of us leaning in, I said, "Okay. Time to kiss. I don't want to die."

"Yeah," James nodded, and gulped, "Right..."

We continued to stare at eachother, and as I did so, I came to another displeasing conclusion: James Potter is not, really, that hideous. I mean, he had a stupid, fat head and even stupider hair on top of that. He'd been ruffling it for the whole time down, and it stood up on end as if he'd been electrocuted. But, just as soon as the thought came, it was quashed as I relived a memory of fourth year: James had been pestering me without rest since the morning began. He'd had his mind on asking me out for a year by then. I'd had a bad night as it was, considering my mother had sent me a letter to tell me my cat had been run over by a car (at the time, that was the closest it got to the world ending). Finally, at the end of third period, I hid in the toilets and cried, and cried, and cried. And as soon as I came out, there he was, just _waiting_ for me...

"You've got that look like you want to kill me," James said nervously.

And then, without any consent from my brain, an arm - _my_ arm - pulled James' head down towards mine and our lips met... But I'm not really doing it justice... I don't know _how_ to do it justice, really.

I'd only intended for it to be a short kiss, a peck. But when we kissed, there was a spark in it. I felt... something... in my blood and through my heart and skin and in my stomach and chest and legs and arms. The closest word I can possibly get to describe it is electricity, but that's so played out, and it _wasn't like that_. I was shaking, trembling, there were tremors - _tremors! _- going through my body and as I held James in my arms, I could feel the same thing happening to him. Whatever it was, atleast it was mutual.

But, of course, the kiss didn't end when it was supposed to or when I had anticipated, and before I knew it, my back met a locker and James had my face cupped in his hands and somehow - I don't know how - my legs had became wrapt around his waist. He moaned in my mouth and I could feel goosebumps all over his neck. I broke the kiss, but only to place smaller ones on his neck. He sighed against my lips and I found myself grinning...

Before I remembered who exactly I was with.

Using my legs, I pushed him away from me, and he fell onto the adjacent lockers.

We were both panting. We were both wide-eyed and shocked.

"Holy fuck," James breathed.

"Holy fuck," I conceded, hand on my forehead and the other on my heart, begging it to still.

We stared at eachother warily.

"Well, at least we won't die..." I said unsurely.

James burst out laughing and began ruffling his hair, "Is it true you have a list in your room saying '150 ways I want to kill James before I die'?"

"No!" I said, defensively, "It's '150 ways I want to _torture _James before I die'. I realize I can only kill you once, so a whole list would be obselete."

"'150 ways to torture' me?" James grinned, seeming more at ease with me than he had in ages, "What_ever turns you on_."

I frowned, "Well, this was fun. We should do it again sometime."

"Really?"

"No, I was being sarcastic," I said, "This doesn't _change_ anything. One amazing kiss doesn't mean I forget all the years of torment you put me through."

"'Amazing kiss', huh?"

"I'm going to go," I said, and pushed myself off the locker and ran out the door before he could say anything.

Jesus H. Christ, what the Hell am I going to do with myself?

-

**Hope that's alright with everybody. Thanks for the reviews. I've decided to scrap my whole 'review or else i'll delete scheme', mostly because it was a bluff. I enjoy writing this too much. Oh well. **

**In response: **

**Plien: **Duly noted. I've taken your advice. Thanks so much for the kind words, and I know what you mean. I think a lot of stories are falling prey to clihe in this day.  
**LazyBoyGilmore: **Okay, if you insist, I _won't_ turn my story into a goldfish. I agree with what you said. Why be normal? Normal people have normal lives, and that is boring.  
**LillyandJamesareCute: **Haha 'funny and wierd', ey? Thanks for the review.  
**MrsClairePotter: **Yeah, I noted after posting that I'd made a few mistakes unfortunately. Oh well. I checked out some of your stories, by the way, and they're _hilarious_.  
**ChrissyWissy: **I was kind of tentative about writing Lily as crazy, but in the end I thought it'd be easier for me (since I have a similairly disordered brain). Thanks for the review.

**Okay, so there you go. What do you think of the plot advancement? Too much too soon? Alright? Stupid?  
****adios from the host with the most,  
****Screaming Monkey Labrat  
**


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